Chris Bunch - Shadow Warrior 1 - The Wind After Time

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The Wind After Time

Shadow Warrior 1

Chris Bunch

Sale of this book without a front cover may be unauthorized. If this book is coverless, it may have been reported to the publish-er as

"unsold or destroyed" and neither the author nor the pub-lisher may have received payment for it

A Del Rey® Book

Published by Ballantine Books

division of Random House, Inc., New York, and simul-taneously in Canada by Random House of Canada Limited, Toronto

Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 95-92544

ISBN 0-345-38735-X

Manufactured in the United States of America

First Edition: March 1996

10 987654321

For

Lance LeGault:

a damn fine

Wolfe

CHAPTER ONE

The seventeen-year-old walked into the circle of smooth-raked sand. Around it sharp boulders, reaching

toward alien stars, made the circle an arena. All else was silence and the night.

A corpse-white grasping organ appeared, extending toward him. In the center was a Lumina. It glowed.

"Take the stone."

"I am not worthy."

"Take the stone."

"My years are not sufficient."

"Take the stone."

Joshua took the Lumina into his own hand. His fin-gers brushed the Al'ar's tendrils.

"Have you been instructed?"

"I have."

"Who lit that torch?"

A second Al'ar spoke. "I did." Joshua saw Taen standing to one side of the sand circle.

The Guardian forsook the ritual: "This may be for-bidden."

"No," Taen said, voice certain. "The codex did not see, so it could not enjoin such a turning."

"So you said before, when you came to us, and told us of this Way Seeker."

The Guardian stood without speaking, and all Joshua heard was the whisper of the dry Saurian wind.

Finally:

"Perhaps we should allow it, then."

Joshua Wolfe came awake. There was no sound but the hum of the ship, no problems indicated by the

over-head telltale. He was sweating.

"Record."

"Recording as ordered," the ship said.

"The dream occurred again. Analyze to match previ-ous occurrences."

Ship hum.

'Wo similarities found. No known stress at present beyond normal when beginning an assignment

Wolfe slid out of the bunk. He was naked. He walked out of the day cabin, glanced across the

instrument banks on the bridge without seeing them, then went down the circular staircase to the deck

below. He palmed a wall sensor, and the hatch opened into a small chamber with padded floor and

mirrored walls and ceil-ing.

He went to the middle of the room. He crouched slightly, centering his body.

Breathe… breathe…

Joshua Wolfe, nearly forty, had used his body hard.

Ropy muscles and occasional scars roadmapped his rangy high-split frame, and his face appeared to

have been left in the weather to age. His hair was bleached as if by the sun. He was just over six feet tall

and kept his weight at 180 pounds. His flat, arctic blue eyes looked at the world without affection,

without fear, without il-lusion.

He began slow, studied movements, hands reaching, touching, striking, returning, guarding; feet lifting,

step-ping, kicking. His face showed no stress, effort, or plea-sure.

He returned to his base stance abruptly and froze, eyes changing focus from infinity to the mirrors on the

wall, on the ceiling. For an instant his reflections blurred. Then the multiple images of Joshua returned.

He sagged, wind roaring through his lungs as if he'd finished a series of wind sprints. He allowed a flash

of disappointment to cross his face, then wiped sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand.

He controlled his breathing and went to the fresher. Perhaps now he would be able to sleep.

"Accumulators at near capacity for final jump."

"Time to jump?"

"Ten ship seconds… Now."

Blur. Feel of flannel, memory of father laughing as he danced in his arms, bitter—bay, thyme, neither, in

the mind. A universe died, and space, time, suns, plan-ets were reborn.

"N-space exited. All navbeacs respond. Plus-minus variation acceptable. Final jump complete.

Destination

on-screen. Sensors report negative scan, all bands. Es-timated arrival, full drive, five ship hours.

Correction?" "None."

Wolfe's ship, the Grayle, darted toward the field on a direct approach.

"Where shall I land?"

A screen lit. The field below was just that—a huge, bare expanse of cracked concrete. There was no

tower, no port building, no hangars, no restaurant, no transport center. There were perhaps half a

hundred stafships, from long-abandoned surplus military craft to non-descript transports to small

well-maintained luxury craft parked helter-skelter on the sides of the tarmac. There was no sign of life on

the field except, at one end, a grounded maintenance lighter and two men intent on disemboweling the

engine spaces of a heavy-lifter.

"Put us down not too far from those ramp rats."

Seconds later, the braking drive flared and the ship grounded. Joshua touched sensors; screens lit and

were manipulated as he carefully examined every starship of a certain description. One drew his

attention. He opened a secondary screen on that mil-surplus ship, once a me-dium long-range patrol

craft.

"ID?"

"Ship on-screen matches input data on target fiche. Hull registry does not match either numbers

from target fiche or the ship listed as carrying those numbers in Lloyds' Registry. Sensors indicate

skin temperature shows ship active within last planetary week. Drive tube temperatures confirm

first datum. No sensor suggests ship is occupied."

"It wouldn't be. He's already about his business. Maintain alert status, instant lift readiness. I'm going

trolling."

"Understood."

Joshua dressed, then went to an innocent wall and pressed a stud. The wall opened. Inside were enough

weapons—guns, grenades, knives, explosives—to outfit a small commando landing. The ship itself hid

other surprises: two system-range nuclear missiles, four in-atmosphere air-to-air missiles, and a chaingun.

Joshua chose a large Federation-issue blaster and holstered it in a worn military gun belt with three

maga-zine pouches clipped to it. Around his neck he looped a silver chain with a dark metal emblem on

it, stylized calligraphy for the symbol ku. It also supported, at the back of his neck, a dartlike obsidian

throwing knife.

Joshua considered his appearance. Gray insul pants, short boots, dark blue singlet under an

expensive-looking but worn light gray jacket that might have been leather but was not, a jacket that

obviously held proofed shockpanels. Pistol well used, all too ready.

Someone looking for a job, any job, so long as it wasn't legal. Just another new arrival on Platte. Just

an-other one of the boys. He would fit right in. He stuck a flesh-toned bonemike com over his left

clavicle.

"Testing," he said, then subvocalized in Al'ar: "Is this device singing?"

"My being says this is so." He heard the ship's re-sponse through bone induction.

"Open the port."

Joshua's ears crackled as they adjusted to the new

pressure. He walked onto the landing field, and the lock doors hissed shut.

He started whistling loudly when he was still some distance from the mechanics. One of them casually

walked to his toolbox, picked up a rag, and began wip-ing his hands. Joshua noted that the rag was

lumpy, about the size of a medium-sized pistol. Platte was that kind of world.

"Help you, friend?"

"Looking for some transport to get around the hike into town."

"Town's a fairly dickey label when there isn't but one hotel, a dozen or so stores, three alkjoints, our

shop, an' a restaurant you'd best not trust your taste buds to."

"Sounds like the big city compared to where I'm from."

A smile came and went on the mechanic's lips, and he looked pointedly at the heavy gun hung low on

Joshua's hip. "I'd guess you came from there at speed, eh?"

"You'd lose, friend," Joshua said. "When I lifted, there was nobody even vaguely interested in my habits

or my comings and goings."

The mechanic took the hint and started toward his lighter. "I can call for Lil. See if she wants to pick up a

few credits. But it'll cost."

"Aren't many Samaritans working the Outlaw Worlds these days," Joshua said. "I'll pay."

The mechanic picked up a com and spoke into it. "She's on her way." He returned to the engine bay and

turned his wrench back on. The second man appeared not to have noticed Joshua.

After a while Joshua saw a worm of dust crawl toward the field.

Lil was about eighteen, working on forty. Her vehicle was a nearly new light utility lifter that looked as if

it'd been sandblasted for a repaint and then the idea had been forgotten. "What're you doin' on Platte?"

she asked without preamble after Joshua had introduced himself.

"My travel agent said it was a relaxing place. Good weather."

Lil glanced through the ripped plas dome at the over-cast sky that threatened rain but would never

deliver. "Right. All Platte needs is water and some good people. That's all Hell needs, too."

The road they traveled above was marked with twelve-foot-high stakes driven into the barren soil. Some

time earner someone had run a scraper down the track, so there were still wheeled or tracked vehicles in

use. The vegetation was sparse, gray, and sagging.

"You'll be staying at the hotel?"

"Don't know. Depends."

"It's the only game in town. Old Diggs sets his rates like he knows it."

"So?"

"I run a rooming house. Sorta. Anyway, there's a room. Bed. Fresher. For extra, I'll cook two meals a

day."

"Sorta?"

"Biggish place. Started as a gamblin' joint. Damn fool who set it up never figured people got to have

somethin' to gamble before they gamble. He walked off

into the desert a year or so ago, and nobody bothered looking to see how far he got. We moved in."

"We?" Joshua asked.

"Mik… he's the one that called me. And Phan. He was the quiet one. Probably didn't even look up from

bustin' knuckles. They're my husbands."

"I'll let you know if I need a place."

Joshua asked Lil to wait and went into the long, low single-story building without a sign. The lobby was

scattered with a handful of benches, their canvas uphol-stery peeling. It smelled stale and temporary.

There were planters on either side of the door, but the plants had mummified a long time before. The

checkout sta-tion was caged in thick steel bars. The old man behind it blanked the holoset he was

watching a pornie on and smiled expectantly. Joshua eyed the bars.

"You must have some interesting paydays around here."

The old man—Diggs, Joshua supposed—let the smile hang for an instant in token appreciation. "It

prevents creativity from some of our more colorful citizens. You want a room?"

"I might." Joshua reached into his jacket and slid a holopic across. Diggs activated it and studied the man

in the projection carefully but said nothing. Joshua took a single gold disk from another pocket,

considered, as greed strolled innocently across Diggs's face, added its brother, and dropped the coins on

the counter.

"Tell by the sound they ain't snide," Diggs said. "Damned poor picture. Doesn't look like your friend was

very cheerful at having it taken, either."

"His name is Innokenty Khodyan."

"That wasn't what he used here." The coins van-ished. "Another reason I don't have trouble is

every-body knows I'm an open book. He checked out two days ago. Took him that long to get a sled

and driver sent down from Yoruba. Two other men came with the armored lim. Hell of a rig. Long time

since this dump has seen something that plush."

"Yoruba, eh?"

"Three, maybe four hours, full power away. Across the mountains, then northeast up toward the coast.

What isn't in or around Yoruba isn't worth buying. The rea-son they don't fancy a landing field is they like

to see their visitors coming. From a ways off."

"I didn't think Ben would change his ways." Joshua nodded thanks. Innokenty Khodyan was running as if

he were on rails. "Three other questions, if you will."

"You can ask."

"Is there any other way to get to Yoruba? If a man was in a little more of a hurry."

"You can wait, see if somebody's headed there in a lighter. Somebody generally is, once a month or so.

That's about it. Second question?"

"How did Khodyan pay for his room?"

"That's something you won't get answered. Try again."

"The two men with the lim? What'd be your call on them?"

"Same sort as you, mister. Except their iron wasn't out in the open. But they had the same kind of… call

it serious intent."

"Thanks."

Joshua was at the door.

"Now I have a question," Diggs said. "Will some-body be looking for you in a couple of days?"

"Not likely," Joshua said. "Not likely at all."

Lil had her blouse off, eyes closed, her feet splayed on the dash. She'd slid the worthless dome back into

its housing. Joshua took a moment to admire her. Her breasts were still eighteen, nipples pointed at the

invis-ible sun. She looked clean, and Joshua didn't mind her perfume, even if it made him think he was

trapped in a hothouse.

"You stayin' here?" She didn't open her eyes.

"No."

"Do I have a roomer… or is it back to the field?"

"Lil," Joshua said, "what shape is this bomb in? I mean its drive. I can tell it's not up for best custom

fin-ish."

"It hums. Phan makes sure of that. He says he don't want me to break down out in the middle of

nowhere. But I think he just loves turbines. He'd rather wrench than screw."

This time the gold was dropped on the woman's stomach. Five coins, larger than the two he'd given

Diggs. Joshua thought about letting his fingers linger but decided not to. Lil lazily opened her eyes.

"Now, that's the sorta thing that really makes a girl smile. I was gonna rape you for the transport, but not

that bad. Or are we talkin' about other possibilities?"

"We are. I need transport to Yoruba. Leaving now. After I get a few things from my ship. That's the

re-tainer."

"Yoruba, huh? You just want me to drop you off… or will you be coming back through here?"

"Maybe a day. Maybe longer. I can't say. Maybe I'll need transport when I get there, maybe not.

Depends. But if you're available, that might simplify things."

"You just hired yourself a pilot. Ten minutes at my place, then we can flit."

"Just like that?"

"Phan, Mik, me, we don't tie each other down or make rules. They can fiddle their dees while I'm gone,

anyway. Build up energy for when I get back."

Joshua went around to the other side of the lifter and over the low hull into the seat beside Lil. She

started the primary and let it warm.

"You planning on getting dressed?" Joshua asked. "Or did I just hire my first nude chauffeur?"

"I could put it on, I could take the rest of it off. Whatever you want, since you're paying."

Joshua made no answer. Lil shrugged and pulled the blouse back on. "At least I got your attention."

The track through the mountains had been roughly graded so a gross-laden heavy-lifter wouldn't

high-side, but it still was more an exceptionally wide path than a roadway. Joshua asked Lil to take the

lifter to max al-titude, which gave him a vulture's-eye perspective at about 150 feet constant.

The land was savage, dry brown earth running into gray rock. The scraggly trees and brush were perhaps

a little taller than they'd been on the flats, but not much. Lil and Joshua overflew a couple of abandoned,

stripped lifters and one thoroughly mangled wreck but saw no other sign of travelers.

There were shacks, but he couldn't tell if they were occupied. Once or twice he saw, higher against a

moun-tain face, scantlings, survival domes, and piled detritus where some miner had tried to convince

himself there must be some value to be torn from this waste.

Joshua spotted to one side a sprawling, high-fenced estate. Beyond the walls there was Earth green and

the blue of a small lake. There were buildings, big ones, a dozen of them, white in new stone.

"Who belongs to that?"

"Nobody knows," Lil answered. "Somebody rich. Or powerful. Somebody private. He—or she, or

it—gets supplies once every couple months. Curiosity don't seem welcome."

She pointed. Joshua had already seen the two gravlighters that had lifted away from one building and

now flew parallel to the lifter's pattern. He wasn't close enough to see how many gunnies each lighter

held. Af-ter they'd passed, the lighters returned to the estate.

"You were in the war?" Lil asked.

"That was a long time ago."

"Figured, by your rig. My dad… anyway, the guy Ma said was my father was some kind of soldier, too.

Ma kept a holo of him on a dresser, wearing some kind of uniform. Took it with her when she hooked, I

guess. I don't remember seeing it… afterward." Then: "Any damage in my asking about what happens

once we get in range of Yoruba? I mean, I can nap-of-the-earth in-sert you without anyone noticing.

Their sensor techs couldn't hear a fart on a field phone."

"No need," Joshua said. "As far as I know, we can parade right in the front door looking beautiful and

get-ting kissed."

"There's more'n one front door," Lil went on. "You ever been there?"

"No. And my travel agent couldn't seem to find a brochure."

"You better think about cannin' that yonk, you get back from your, uh, 'vacation.' 'Kay. There's a whole

patch of front doors. Outside the gates there's cribs. Shantytown. Bars. Cafes. Independent-run. If

you're looking for sanctuary on the cheap or if whoever you're lookin' for is down on his credits, that'll be

where you want to go. Somebody'll be around to collect the tariff sooner or later. Everybody pays at

Yoruba."

"I was never much of an alley cat. Except when I had to be. What's the next level?"

"The next stage is straight into the main resort. Up there, what you get depends on what you got."

"That sounds like a good place to start."

"You called it," Lil said. "You want to spend, I'll put you in Ben Greet's lap, if you want. He's the one

who owns Yoruba. He says frog, everybody turns green and starts pissin' swamp water."

"Glad to see my friend's doing so well," Joshua said. "Maybe we'll have a chance to talk about the old

days."

"I hope you aren't bein' cute and Greet really is your friend," Lil warned. "Greet's nothin' but bulletproof."

Joshua smiled.

Something ahead caught his eye. "Well, I shall be damned," he said. "What an utterly charming little

place."

A nicely paved roadway led up from the main track,

a freshly painted white fence on either side of it and de-marcating the deep green pasture around the

sprawling red-brick house. There was a sign on the road below. Lil took binocs from the dash box and

handed them across. Joshua focused. The sign read: traveler's rest.

"Does anyone actually fall for that?"

"They surely do. Pretty regular we hear of some gravlighter that 'just happened' to crash around here.

Crash and always burn, real bad, since nobody ever finds the pilot or swamper. Or cargo.

"We call that the gingerbread house. Except you don't have to bring Gretel. The owners'll provide her…

and anything else that's asked for, or so the story goes. Until you stop payin' attention or go to sleep.

"They got themselves a cargo ship back at the field, and every now and then it lifts, but nobody's ever

seen a cargo manifest."

"Most places I've been," Joshua said, "after a while people would see to something that wide-open, law

or no law."

"Not on Platte, mister. 'Sides, as far as we know, the only people that get done are fools or off-worlders,

and none of us took either to raise."

They rode in silence, not uncomfortable, as the track crested the mountain and then wound down across

a valley a bit more fertile than the wasteland. There were more buildings, some rich, some poor, no order

to their location. A mansion would be next to a hovel, and sometimes there would be a clump of

buildings, almost a failed village. Sometimes there would be a paved road, and twice he saw automated

ways. The roads, like everything else, started and stopped arbitrarily, as if the

builder had built until he got bored or had quit when a completely invisible requirement had been met.

There were farmhouses, but each sat in desolation. Occasion-ally there would be the gleam of a few light

manufac-turing buildings. Farther on, with no road or track to them, would be a group of buildings that

might shift for a marketplace. It was as if an angry child had hurled his elaborate toys across a sandbox.

"I guess," Joshua mused, "when you're studying an-archy hard, logic doesn't come knocking much."

Lil frowned, not understanding, then looked ahead at the track. The frown persisted. She spoke, again

without preparation but as if she'd been waiting for him to speak first:

"You know, when I shook my tits at you back there… there was a reason."

"I didn't figure it for a sudden impulse," Joshua said.

"I said I had rooms. For a price. Board cost extra, I said. That ain't all that's for sale. Not for everybody,

though," she said hastily. "We ain't that poor. And I'm not that desperate."

Joshua maintained his silence.

"If you're gonna be staying on in Yoruba, let me be with you. I won't charge nothin'."

The turbine hiss was loud in the dead air.

"I know, in Yoruba, there's prettier. If you're really a friend of Ben Greet's, most likely they'll be free,

too. But I ain't that bad; give me a little time with a mirror. I won't let you get bored. I know some tricks.

I was in a house for a while, till I had to offplanet and come here. I ain't just a country dox, not knowin'

anything but flat on her back with her legs up."

When Joshua didn't reply, her shoulders slumped. "Didn't figure that'd fly," she said in a monotone. "But

Jerusalem on a pony, you don't know what it's like bein' in that hellforsaken port. You know everybody,

everybody knows you. You know what they're gonna say, and pretty soon you know what you're gonna

say… what you're even gonna think, day in, day out.

"And all the time people pass through, and you know you ain't ever gonna be able to go with them.

You're gonna dry and wither, just like this damned planet grew you like you were a scatterbush."

"That's not it, Lil," Joshua said. "I've got business in Yoruba, and things might become… troublesome.

Quite loudly troublesome."

"Trouble don't get no cherry off me," she said de-fiantly; her hand flashed to her boot top, and Joshua

saw steel flash.

The small gun vanished. "Hell with it. I don't beg. There's Yoruba, anyway. You want me to sleep in the

lifter, or should I find a room somewhere? I'll have to charge for that, you know."

Joshua didn't reply. He blanked her presence as the lifter lowered to the track, which became a paved

and marked road with planted greenery to either side. Ahead rose Yoruba, sprawling over half a dozen

hilltops, its domes, spires, and cupolas gleaming dully. His eyes half-closed, he let himself flow outward,

ahead of the lifter as it moved past a guard shack where a semimo-bile blaster's muzzle had been tracking

them. Two heavily armed guards saluted casually as their eyes noted, filed, categorized.

"Ship, do you still hear this voice and know from where it sings?" Again he spoke in Al'ar. "You

are still heard and watched."

The lifter went up a side road toward a grand series of towers, all glass and multihued stone, surrounded

by the exotic plants of half a hundred worlds. They passed through wrought-iron gates and rode over

hand-laid flagstones. There were bubbling fountains and, under an archway, two women, smiling as if he

were their lover home from his great adventure. •

Lil set the lifter down smartly beside the greeters. "Welcome to Yoruba," they chimed.

"Thank you." Joshua got out and knelt, one hand touching the pavement. He felt Yoruba, felt the danger

tingle, the sparkle of wine and laughter, the shout as markers cascaded, the blank despair of the

gambler's loss, the silk of flesh around his loins, the tang of blood and the blankness of death. But not for

him. Not yet. He felt no neck prickle. The flurry vanished, and he was touching nothing but a flagstone in

a mosaic.

"Is something the matter, sir?" The woman was try-ing to sound concerned.

Joshua stood. He took a gold coin from his jacket and laid it in the greeter's suddenly present palm. Lil

was staring fixedly at the lifter's control panel.

"No. Nothing at all," Joshua said. "It's just been a long trip. Sorry we didn't have time to com ahead.

We'll need a suite and a porter. Just one. Neither my partner nor myself has much in the way of luggage."

A slow smile moved across Lil's face, as if her mus-cles found the change unfamiliar but welcome.

CHAPTER TWO

Joshua lay flat on one of the enormous beds, eyes closed, half hearing Lil's gurgles and squeals at their

room with its private garden and pond; the autopub with its myriad bottles, flasks, bulbs; the elaborate

refreshers with surround showers, deep tubs, saunas; the call panel offering personalized dreams from

hairdresser to mas-seur to escort; and all the rest of the suite's silk and gold Byzantine appointments.

He was reaching out, delicate as an Al'ar tendril, again feeling. Again—no threat, no danger.

There was a soft thump beside him, and he was back in the room. "This's the biggest bed I've ever seen,"

Lil announced. Her smile became sultry. "You suppose it works?"

Joshua's fingers reached of their own volition and ran down the side of her face. Eyes closed, she inhaled

sharply and lay back, waiting, lips open.

"Unfortunately," Joshua said, "I was raised pretty strict and never could handle playing during working

hours."

Lil said nothing, but her hand came up, touched his, then moved down across her flat stomach, hand

circling upward and lifting her blouse. She ran a fingernail over one nipple, and it hardened.

She touched her waistband, and the memory fastener opened. She lifted her hips and slid her pants down

un-til her golden down shone. Her legs parted slightly, and she slipped fingers between them, gently

caressing her-self. Her eyes opened, and she looked dreamily, smil-ing, into Joshua's.

Joshua got up. He took a breath, made his voice level. "And you're on the payroll, too, lady."

Lil sat, still smiling. "What do I do?"

"Spend some money. Think rich. You'll need an out-fit for dinner. Plus something for tomorrow, casual

but expensive. Something you can run in, if we have to. Hair, derm, manicure, massage if you want. Don't

get too crazy—I'm not that rich. I want you to look like—"

He was looking at an extended middle finger. "I know," Lil said, "what I should look like. Close,

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TheWindAfterTimeShadowWarrior1ChrisBunchSaleofthisbookwithoutafrontcovermaybeunauthorized.Ifthisbookiscoverless,itmayhavebeenreportedtothepublisheras"unsoldordestroyed"andneithertheauthornorthepublishermayhavereceivedpaymentforitADelRey®BookPublishedbyBallantineBooksCopyright©1996byChristopherBunc...

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